I followed her gaze. And my heart nearly stopped.
Maren.
For a moment, I barely recognized her.
The woman standing near the roadside looked nothing like the elegant wife I remembered from charity galas and business dinners.
She wore faded jeans, worn sandals, and a simple gray shirt. A canvas bag hung from her shoulder. Another bag filled with aluminum cans rested near her feet.
She looked exhausted.
But none of that mattered. Because Maren wasn’t alone.
Two babies were strapped against her chest. Twins. Tiny. Sleeping peacefully beneath pale blue caps.
Even from a distance, I noticed their fair curls. The same light hair I had inherited from my father.
My stomach tightened. Something felt wrong. Very wrong.
Before I could speak, Tessa rolled down the window.
“Well, Maren,” she called out cheerfully. “Looks like life turned out exactly the way you deserved.”
I flinched. The cruelty in her voice shocked even me.
Maren didn’t respond. She didn’t defend herself. She didn’t insult Tessa. She didn’t even acknowledge her.
Instead, she looked directly at me. Only me.
And what I saw in her eyes shook me more than anger ever could.
Sadness. Deep, weary sadness. The kind that comes after someone has stopped expecting justice.
“Drive,” Tessa snapped.
But I couldn’t.
A memory suddenly surfaced. One year earlier. The day everything fell apart.
